


Solis

by bgmblues



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horizon: Zero Dawn Fusion, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, Military, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-11-09 01:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgmblues/pseuds/bgmblues
Summary: Reiner takes an arrow to the knee. Except instead of his knee, its definitely his heart. Local bowyer Bertolt tries--and fails--at pretending not to notice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS for horizon zero dawn! they start right off the bat in this chapter/fic

You had been in Meridian for years now, after helping overthrow it with Sun-King Avad. After the attempted assassination on the Sun-King and the death of the Vanguard leader Ersa, were you given a more active duty. People were no longer allowed to come speak to the Sun-King without having made an appointment beforehand, and you were to stand watch all day to make sure no one else was to sneak in.

Some people would come and go, those who were closer to the Sun-King. A red-haired Nora girl, guard members, the commanders… Occasionally though, someone strange would be brought in. Whether it be to talk to the Sun-King...or to the Vanguard.

It was a tall man--taller than you, even--who was brought before your section. You could tell right away he was uncertain about being there, the way he was hunched over and leaning forward, as if ready to run at any moment. He did not wear the ridiculous, avian-inspired outfits other high class citizens wore, nor was he in merchant's garb. The embroidered but tattered middle-class clothing he had stuck out like a sore thumb.

“This is Bertolt Hoover,” the commander says. (Like most of them, this commander is hardly  _ your _ commander, but you can let that slide.) The name sounds foreign and was fitting for his…handsome features.

“He's here to make sure everyone has proper bow training,” he commander finishes. A few groans arise from those around you and your commander gives them a dirty look.

“Shut up, all of you. Not everyone has had as much training, and Bertolt is one of the finest hunters in all of Meridian.” Bertolt fidgets a little at the praise. He glances through your ranks as subtlety as someone so nervous probably can then quickly looks at the ground like a child being chided for taking something he wasn't supposed to.

He was expected to teach you things? He seemed ready to jump out of his skin and hadn't even said a word.

“We're organizing a trip out to practice.” The commander says, “But for now we will be starting practice two afternoons from now.”

After a few more minutes of explanation, you are all dismissed. A few squad members crowd around Bertolt in obvious interest, though you can't tell if it's because of him being the new apparent leader or if they're interested in sleeping with him. Or both.

You look him over when you get a little closer to make your own decision. Yes, he was definitely attractive. His eyes were a dark green color and he was absolutely taller than you, maybe even by a hand or two.

“It's a pleasure to meet you all,” you hear him say, voice as meek sounding as he appeared, “I hope I can be of service.” It was a little scratchy even, like he didn't speak much.

“Are you training everyone?” someone asks. Bertolt quickly shakes his head, waving his hands in front of him.

“Just a handful. Several people I work with are helping other groups,” he explains.

“Are you truly one of the best hunters in Meridian?” Another person asks. Bertolt's face flushes a deep red.

“No,” he stammers, “of course not. That captain is merely a fan of my bows. I must thank him for speaking of me so highly,” Bertolt says. The red on his face seems to have moved more to his ears.

You can't help but think he's even more attractive now. Before the moment escapes, you make your way up to him through the small crowd.

“Are you free to take a man out around town after this?” You ask. Behind you, Marcel and others groan, and in front of you, Bertolt lets out what sounds like a surprised squeak. His eyes get wide and and he's gaping a little, the flush spreading all over his face.

He clearly wasn't used to the attention.

“I,” he gulps, “I suppose I am free in a few days, if a man can wait that long.” He meets your gaze for a moment before coyly looking away.

_ Oh.  _ He was flirting back, albeit a little strangely. No matter, it seemed your invitation had been accepted.

“Certainly,” you reply, trying your best not to grin, “I'm sure any man could wait a few days to spend time with someone like you.”

“I hope to see you soon. Ask for Reiner Braun if you cannot find me,” you tell him. He nods slowly, and you can see that he's sweating and nervous. It was time to give him a little space.

“Reiner Braun,” you hear him murmur to himself as you step away. What a wonderful voice and lips, saying your name. You hope you can coax it out of him again.

“I look forward to working time with you,” you say as you begin to head to Marcel. “Your service is most appreciated.” He smiles at you softly, yet obviously embarrassed.

You wink back at him when Marcel drags you away for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Two nights pass; the section of five Vanguard members is antsy to begin training. You were very eager to see the handsome man that was to be teaching you proper bow form again.

Bertolt Hoover.

There had been little mention of him from your captain since the day he introduced himself, but no mention had been made of the training being cancelled. You were lucky to be placed with him, despite Marcel being placed elsewhere.

Bertolt's already there, despite it being hardly midday yet. There's piles of quivers and bows beside him and he's leaning against a crate, shuffling his boots in the dirt. After a few minutes he stands, stretches a little and looks to brush dust off his pants.

He sets up targets as you all do your stretches again. You're grateful for not having all that heavy armor on because when he scans through everyone, you wink when you catch his eye. He quickly looks away again, seemingly trying to ignore it.

And the heat was awful, as always. But that was just details.

Eventually everyone is lined up, Bertolt and Erend today--the  _ actual _ Vanguard captain--stand together. Erend leans over and whispers something with a sly grin on his face, to which Bertolt looks rather flustered. He may be the captain, but you knew him as just as much a flirt as others. It seemed everyone else saw Bertolt's attractiveness as well, but so far you were the only one (you knew of) who had had that affection returned.

“So! You five are training with Bertolt here.” Erend starts, clapping a hand on the Carjan man's back. Bertolt practically jumps. “Your schedule's up to him, but I expect everyone to keep up with your other duties. Take it away, Bert.” 

Bertolt opens his mouth and just, sighs. He doesn't loosen up but does step towards the bow prepared.

“Do any of you have experience with bows?”

More or less, everyone shrugs and seems to agree they did. You hadn't since you were a child, but you suppose it was still experience. You, Marcel, his stupid brother and a few other of your friends had once found a bow as children and had the dumb idea of pretending to be hunters. You only really remember Marcel almost getting an arrow impaled in his head and the fallout it caused between your group of friends. You also remember Marcel's brother tackling you and punching you until your nose was bleeding and face was bruised. You hadn't even been the one to almost hit Marcel.

You'd never been a fan of his brother anyway.

None of you had been let near a bow afterward, so admittedly you had little clue what you were doing. You were a little excited at the idea of Bertolt possibly spending more time with you because of it.

Such an answer seems to make Bertolt a little less nervous. He takes out his own bow. “So you all know how to hold a bow?”

Reluctantly everyone shrugs again. It wasn't that hard to figure out. Even if someone didn't know, they didn't need to give that much away. Bertolt picks up a second bow. “Who wants to go first, then?” He asks.

There's an awkward silence. Nobody wants to volunteer. Going first meant having all your errors pointed out.

Reluctantly, someone steps forward. He takes the bow from Bertolt and walks to a stick in the ground. When you look closer, you see it's actually a quiver. Bertolt pulls an arrow out and takes a stance. He nocks the arrow, whispering instructions on how to to the man beside him. In one fluid movement, he draws the bow and gets go of the string. The arrow hits the middle of the target with a thud.

The instructee fidgets with his own stance, not quite as solid looking, and nocks his own arrow. He draws back the string

Bertolt says things you can't hear, to which the Vanguard member adjusts himself in various ways. He shifts the the bow a little lower, and then lower more, until Bertolt's grabbing ahold of the bow and lowering it more. After a few more seconds, the arrow flies.

It still hits too high, but you have to admit it's a good first attempt.

You end up going in a line from there on, making you the third person. You've picked up a little bit from watching, which meant it was time to show off how great a beginner you were.

“Reiner!” He greets, seemingly excited to see you again, before realizing and ducking away. You smirk at him. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Bertolt. I hope our night on the town is still in your schedule.” He hands you the bow, fingers brushing yours.

“Of course,” he responds shyly, “Come find me at the Hunters Lodge in a few days, maybe?” 

“Will do,” you laugh back. You take your stance; that much seems to be right because Bertolt doesn't say anything. But then when you're trying to draw the bow, he steps in.

“Three fingers,” Bertolt says. You glance over to him in confusion. “Don't grab it with your whole fist. Just three fingers.” He explains. You drop the draw and adjust your hand.

But when you draw again, the arrow comes off the rest. You fix it, only for it to come out again. Once more, Bertolt steps in.

“You're too tense,” he tells you, “Relax. Spread your fingers apart more.” You do as told; this time the arrow stays. Maybe it was just you, but his wording made you blush. Such advice sounded slightly erotic. 

You had taken note to aim lower, but it seems you still didn't aim low enough. Bertolt pulls the bow down and then walks around to your other side and pushes your elbow up. When you glance over to him, he offers a small and knowing smile.

Your arm starts to wobble with the effort of aiming, so you quickly shoot the arrow. It hits just inside the outer ring of the target.

“Good!” Bertolt tells you, “Would you like to try again?”

You grin at him and take a second arrow. You go through the motions of setting up again, nocking the arrow and drawing the bow. Again, you try to aim until your arm is shaking and let go of the string, tenderly shaking your arm.

“You don’t have to worry about aiming,” Bertolt chimes in, “Just trust your instincts. Do you want to try again?” 

It wasn’t like you actually had much of a choice. You shoot a third arrow, still hitting the outside ring of the target, and shake your arm again. It took a lot of arm strength to be a hunter, apparently. You think you prefered your hammer.

You try a few more times until your arm felt like it was going to fall off. Bertolt gently takes ahold of your arm but seems to think everything looks right. You can feel a blush rising but pointedly look away as you had the bow back to him. The next person steps up to try as well.

You sit down back with the other men and stretch your arm, vaguely paying attention until everyone has gone. At some point in time, Erend must've left, leaving Bertolt to dismiss you all.

“You all picked up the basics really fast!” He tells you all with a smile, “I'm usually at the Hunters Lodge if you have any questions.” He picks up the quiver on the ground and slings it over his shoulder as he talks. “I was thinking we'd meet here again in another two days, then. Same time, please. Oh! And you don't need to wear all that armor you have on now.

Someone snorts; the armor you had on now was hardly heavy. The Carja just seemed to prefer pretty things to practical things. 

“May the Sun light your path until then,” Bertolt adds. “You are dismissed.”

Most everyone scatters, but you find yourself sauntering up to Bertolt. He kneels on the ground, pulling a few arrows free.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” You ask. He looks up to you and quickly shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer,” he responds, “but most everything if being provided by the military and Hunters Lodge. I've been instructed to leave the targets up for my associates tomorrow.” You hum. 

“Are you apart of the Hunters Lodge?”

“By the Sun, no!” Bertolt exclaims, a flush coming over him. “It's very elite. I merely sell my wares there often.” He snorts, “I'm afraid the competition is a little too much for me.”

“A shame, you certainly do seem talented,” you smirk, “What do you sell?”

“Machine parts, hides, the like,” he tells you, standing up and brushing his knees clean of any dirt. “But I always have a handful of bows for sale. With the machines getting more and more dangerous, you have to be careful your bow doesn't snap.” He tucks the arrows into his quiver.

“I won't be around tomorrow, but swing by...the day after our next training? Perhaps we can eat together.” His lips quirk up. “I'm afraid I must go now. I'll see you soon, Reiner.”

Your smirk twists into a grin. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Bertolt. You'll be in my thoughts until our paths cross again.” He shyly looks away.

You don't miss the spring in his step as he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my laptop conveniently died as i tried to upload this last night


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (looks at date last updated) uhhhhhhhhhh i have no excuse for this

You maybe, possibly arrive early to training. Bertolt still only has the one quiver and bow, so you presume he  still plans to do things one on one. He spots you when pacing away from the target. His face lights up, but then he ducks away to try and hide such a response. You take that as your cue to join him.

“Well hello, Bertolt,” you joke. “I didn't expect seeing you here.” He keeps pacing away from the target before coming to a stop. He sets up the quiver there.

“Really now?” He muses, voice teasing. “The Sun must have wished for us to meet again.” 

“Indeed,” you laugh. You never quite understood the Carja and their worship of the sun, but you wouldn't put a stop to Bertolt's friendly attitude. “Do you need any help setting up?” 

“Thankfully nothing else, actually. Everything stays set up so we don’t have to do it over and over again,” Bertolt explains, “Though I’m used to carrying things from my house to Meridian.”

“You don’t live in Meridian?” You think out loud, internally wincing at the question. Bertolt sighs and shrugs.

“Do I look like I live in Meridian?” He responds dryly. You’d even noted his torn middle class clothing when you’d first seen him.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” You joke, “You look incredibly handsome.” Despite his clothes unraveling at the seams, they were embroidered and fashionable. Perhaps it was just the way the Carja dressed--they were a culture of the arts, after all--or perhaps it was Bertolt’s clothing choices. They fit him well regardless.

Bertolt shuffles his feet in the dirt. “I’d wear something better if I could,” he says, a little shyly. “My clothes are awfully dirty and torn.”

“I think they're still quite fancy,” you muse, “Much more maneuverable than my armor.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you note a second person or two shows up as you talk. Bertolt glances you over.

“Oh! You're out of your armor after all!” He says, as if he hadn't noticed earlier. Less than subtly, he eyes your muscles. You can't help but smirk.

“You said to come without it. I would never miss a chance to be in lighter clothes,” you laugh. “It's unbearably hot to wear, especially in this weather.” Obviously you don't mention the time you and Marcel had dared each other to stay outside in your armor for as long as possible. Or how you both ended up passing out.

Bertolt's lips quirk up. “The bugs in Meridian Village are awful. The heat's bad enough, but then you get bitten up.” He looks like he might say something else but then looks behind you. It seems everyone has arrived. 

With a small wave, you settle back among the group. Bertolt seems to steel himself before speaking. 

“It's nice to see you all again,” he says. Nobody says anything, but Bertolt relaxes a little when he sees your encouraging grin.

“Today I thought we'd keep doing some of the basic things and start moving,” Bertolt adds. “I was thinking we could reverse order on who goes today.” Which meant...you still went third. You should've stood at one end of the line instead. 

The first guy goes. It’s agonizingly slow; you know you should be paying attention, but all you can think about is what you’ll say when you see Bertolt again. Nothing comes to mind. 

Luckily, he doesn't seem to care. 

“Hi,” you say, rather dumbly. He snickers. 

“Hello again,” he says back, offering you the bow. You take it from him, and then the arrow in his hand.

You fall into the stance and nock your arrow, remembering the advice from the previous session about your hands. Not too tense, and only--

“Three fingers,” Bertolt says, “one of them is only half there. You want all three holding the string.” You hum, adjusting your grip. Bertolt smiles when you glance over. 

“Yes, that's it. Now shoot.”

You let go of the string and the arrow flies forward, lodging itself in the outside of the target. Your aim's no better than last time, but you're still proud.

“Okay, now try moving back here,” he instructs. It's where he set up the quiver earlier. You don't have another arrow, so you walk to where Bertolt now stood and take one. You straighten up and nock the arrow. 

It was further away, so did you need to aim higher? Reluctantly you do, only for Bertolt to adjust you again. Not quite as high. You let go. 

The arrow goes right past the target and into the ground. Bertolt winces. “Good try,” he halfheartedly sighs. You take another arrow and try again. 

And, again, miss the target completely. 

Bertolt's wince turns into a grimace. “It's ok to step closer,” he tells you. “We only have so many sessions to learn a lot, so it's normal that you're having a hard time.”  You huff. You could totally do this. Bertolt made it look so  _ easy _ , after all. 

You take another arrow and try again; it knocks against the outside of target with a thud, then into the grass. You groan.  As a child tossing rocks into a local pond, you were never very good at aiming. Clearly not much had changed. 

"Try shoot as you step forward instead," Bertolt suggests. "We need to cover that anyway."

You pick up another arrow and nock it as told, taking an almost shaky step forward as you tried to aim. You let go and again, the arrow flies past and sinks into the dirt. Thankfully Bertolt doesn't laugh at your incompetence. He simply hands you another arrow and motions for you to keep trying. 

You keep taking slow, wobbly steps forward as you aim and shoot until you're back where you started. It's only then your arrow hits the target and any triumph you feel is quickly overshadowed by embarrassment. Regardless, another arrow is placed in your hands.

Bertolt's hand brushes against yours as he does so, perhaps there for a moment longer than normally acceptable. You force yourself to focus on the task at hand, nocking your arrow and drawing the bow. 

"Try moving backwards now," Bertolt breathes. His voice isn't quite in your ear, but it's enough to make you have to suppress a shiver. You do as told and take a small step backwards--and then another and another--as you aim. 

The arrow smacks into the target with a thud. You've probably never been more relieved over weapons training. That shot would be a turning point and you'd get it under your belt.

Except you miss the next shot, and then the next shot and actually every shot after that. Bertolt gives you a sympathetic look at dismisses you for the next person to come up. You collapse on the ground to watch, grumbling quietly to yourself that this guy does a little better than you. 

Not by much though. Admittedly, watching him miss too makes you feel a little better.

Finally everyone has gone and Bertolt calls you all up, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he speaks. 

"You all did very well today--" he starts. Someone snorts. Bertolt winces. 

"Even if it doesn't seem like much, you're all picking it up incredibly fast," he quickly adds on. He opens his mouth to speak before deciding on something else. 

"Training at the same time in three days," he says. "You are dismissed."

The person to your right hightails it out of there, followed by the others at a much slower rate. You all had other duties to attend to, but you were too drawn to Bertolt to leave immediately. All too slowly, you make your way over to him.

"I was thinking we could meet up in two days, if that works?" Bertolt asks, not even looking up from his work of pulling arrows out of the ground. You look away to hide your embarrassment, even if he's focused on other things.

"That sounds great!" Your voice comes out a little too loud and you can't help but wince and cough to clear your throat. Bertolt finally glances up to you with an amused half smile. What a brilliant sight. 

"Meet me at the Hunters Lodge at about midday, maybe?" He adds.

"That works with me," you respond. "I'm sorry I can't spend longer with you today, I have other duties to attend to."

Bertolt snorts out a laugh. "It's okay. I'll see you soon, then."

"Yes! I'll see you soon," you echo. You take this as your moment to leave, suddenly feeling lighter than air. It takes all your being not to holler in joy.

You had a  _ date _ with  _ Bertolt _ . Everything was good with the world.


	4. Chapter 4

You awake early today, blankly staring up. Right away, your mind is racing; your time with Bertolt was today. Should you wear something nice, or should you just be casual? On one hand, Bertolt wasn't the type of person that wanted a lot of attention on himself. But on the other hand, you wanted to charm and impress him.

You sit up with a soft groan. Maybe you were overthinking it; you didn't even know if this was a courting thing or not. You should have made it more clear that you wanted to  _ go out _ with him.

Which, in turn, meant you should probably be more casual about it. Right? Then again, he was a fashionable person. You shouldn't just throw whatever on.

You roll out of your bunk and stretch, careful not to hit your head on the top bunk. Marcel is still asleep--actually, when you glance around, it seemed most everyone was. A few other military and Vanguard men had roused but most beds remain occupied. 

How early was it that you were up and so many people weren't? You suppose you had always been a morning person but this was a bit...dramatic. This couldn't be because of your excitement about seeing Bertolt, right? Yet when you hold your hand to your chest, your heart is pounding.

You whack Marcel's side, earning what might be a snore. He whacks you back, albeit with the strength and drive of a pebble. 

"Whaddya wan'" he slurs, "I'm sleepin'."

"I'm going out with Bertolt today," you tell him, voice soft. "I don't know what to wear."

Marcel sighs and cocks his head to look at you. Even with only the dawn light filtering in the window across the room you can make out his pleasantly surprised expression. He grumbles a little but doesn't seem to actually mind. 

"Lemme sleep a little more," he says quietly. "You should too. It's still early." You know he's right, but you're looking forward to your maybe-date so much that you don't think you'll be able to fall back asleep.

"Yeah, ok. I'll try," you sigh. Marcel nods, eyes drooping, and seemingly rolls over and falls back asleep. You can't help but admire his dedication on wanting to sleep more.

You duck back into your own bed, once more staring up at the underside of Marcel's mattress. A little more light shines in the room so you halfheartedly turn over and hide your face in your pillow. There's no way you're getting back to sleep, but you suppose you can just rest for now. 

Your eyes close. Everything grows quiet and dull. Yet when you open your eyes again, nothing's changed. This was going to be a lot harder than you'd hoped. 

For what feels like hours, you toss and turn until finally the familiar sound of the barracks waking up begins. Of course you're only just now tired. The thought makes you snort to yourself.

Marcel's bed shifts and groans and creaks until finally his feet appear over the side of the bed. He hops down with a grunt and pads over to your shared chest to root through for clothes. You watch him, neck uncomfortably craned to see him, before finally sitting up. 

The barracks finally break into that familiar morning noise. Marcel glances up to you as he pulls out his under armor clothes. You took the day off for your  _ maybe date _ with Bertolt, so there was no rush for you to get ready quite yet. 

Marcel shrugs off his night pants and steps into the familiar baggy orange pants that went with your armor. He doesn't shrug on the shirt quite yet, instead just kicking his old pants underneath the chest.

"Soooo," he starts. "Date with Bertolt."

At this you sit up, perhaps a little too eager. Marcel gives you a knowing look. 

"Well, I'm not sure it's a  _ date _ date, y'know? So I'm not sure if I should wear something nice or not," you explain. 

"He seemed like a pretty anxious guy when we saw him," Marcel hums. “Probably better to be casual about it.”

In the end you throw on a looser shirt--familiar Oseram cloth on your skin--and your smithing pants. You wave Marcel off for his shift and with that, you’re on your way yourself.

It takes you a little longer than you would’ve liked to get there. You don’t know the path and you may or may not have turned a corner wrong once or twice. You even have to spend a few minutes steeling yourself when the Hunters Lodge comes into view. Your leg anxiously bounces on the stone path as you admire the building. Despite living in Meridian for so long, you had never stepped foot in here. There had never been a reason to. 

A few hidden deep breaths later, you shake your hands loose and enter in. 

The first thing you notice is that walking around the Hunters Lodge is...unnerving. You suddenly understand why Bertolt was hesitant-- _ afraid _ , even--to think about joining. The merchants don't seem to mind you but it's clear those in the Lodge itself are eyeing you.

The second thing is how much bigger it was here than you thought.

A familiar face catches your eyes as you look around. It quickly distracts  from your admiration of the building in favor of talking to him.

Bertolt practically drops what he's holding when he sees you. He awkwardly fumbles with it--a bow, perhaps?--before handing to the person across from him and seemingly excusing himself to rush over to you.

“Reiner! I didn't expect to see you here,” he says, looking surprised. You must look a little down at the words, as Bertolt immediately takes your hand to lead you aside. He doesn't let go of you.

“Our outing is today,” you remind him. His eyes widen before he very visibly winces. 

“By the Sun, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot…” he looks down. The disappointment on your own face starts to reflect on his and he looks down at his feet. 

“It's okay,” you sigh. “We can do it another day.”

“Tomorrow,” Bertolt quickly cuts in. “I know we have training but we can meet up at sundown and have fun together.” He has a surprisingly committed tone, clearly upset at his forgetfulness. You can't help but smile a little. 

"Tomorrow it is," you say. "But don't forget this time," you add teasingly. 

"I won't," he laughs. Your smile grows to an all out grin; Bertolt's playfulness was simply infectious to you.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything important," you start with a halfhearted smile. It was probably for the best you excuse yourself now, even if you wanted to see Bertolt for longer. Well, maybe you could try and stick around a  _ few _ more minutes.

"No, no, you didn't," Bertolt waves his hands in front of him. "He's the eldest son of a noble. There's no spot open right now, but he'll be sponsored when there is. You could almost say he's a friend." 

You glance over to the man, then back to Bertolt. He seemed older than yourself and well trained, at least.

"Sponsored?" You echo in a whisper.

Bertolt hums and nods. 

"That's the only way to actually join the Lodge," he explains. "A Hawk will sponsor a Thrush until they leave and then the Thrush becomes a Hawk and can sponsor someone themselves."

You have no clue what he's talking about. Regardless, you smile and nod. It was probably another weird bird thing the Carja had going on. He’s about to explain something else when the man looks over your direction and meets Bertolt’s eyes.

“I should get back to work,” Bertolt sighs, as if they communicated through just that look. You can't help but sigh as well.

“Alright. We’re on tomorrow after training, though?” You ask.

“Of course,” Bertolt says with a small smile. With only a glance, a smile and a wave back your way, he’s left you to continue his work.

Wait. What were you supposed to do with the rest of your day, now? And how were you supposed to get tomorrow evening off, too? You groan.

You suppose if it’s for Bertolt, you’ll figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> finally posting this fic again and Actually Gonna Update It


End file.
